Hello!

So this is the last part. I want to thank everyone for reading, reviewing, alerting, etc. I'm grateful to you for spending your time on this story. An extra big thank you to graceofgod, for the amazing beta'ing: you improved on this story, big time!

I would welcome any comments. It's awesome to hear people's thoughts, and I think it's pretty much the tops that people are taking the time to share them. I have had a couple people message me and ask if I'm going to continue with this verse. My answer? I just may.

I also want to add one last time that this story may be spoilerish for anyone who hasn't seen The End. If you haven't seen the episode, you may want to stop reading now, or at least consider yourself warned.

Disclaimer: Not mine, peeps.

Then.

Cas knew that something was very wrong almost immediately after Dean and Marcus left.

It started as a soft pressing, the anxiety. A faint humming in the back of his mind. Before long, that hum became a whisper, and the whisper morphed into a hiss that picked and nagged at his brain.

It's when the headache starts that he's sure. Something's happening, and he's powerless to stop it. And suddenly, it feels like a comet is exploding in his head. The light and noise that fills his skull is horrific. He stops what he's doing and drops his duffel, clapping his hands to his ears and squeezing his eyes shut, until the blinding, deafening whiteness behind his eyeballs recedes. He opens them an endless moment later and is dimly surprised to find that he has collapsed to his knees. He doesn't feel the solicitous hand on his shoulder as he pushes himself back up to his feet, dazed and mute, and stumbles off in search of Bobby.

He finds the hunter in the common hall, fiddling with the walkie-talkies. He's working with his head down, squinting in concentration. Bobby is so calm, so focused on his task that Cas knows right in that instant. No one else but him is even remotely aware of what's going on, and the knowledge saddens him. He feels utterly alone with it, like he's bleeding and no one can see. He can't possibly begin to explain what's occurring right at this very moment to the hunter, that Detroit is happening right now, but he's the only one who can so he takes a shaking breath and steels himself.

"I'll have these ready to go in a minute," Bobby says to the angel without looking up from his work. It's not until Cas is standing directly over him that the hunter glances up, brow furrowed in irritation. "I need the light, you know," he begins, and then trails off. "Jesus, Cas, what is it? You look awful."

And Cas feels awful. His head is pounding so hard his vision is wavering, and this alone is a new experience for him. He's not sure how to put the rest of it into words. He feels different, like his energy is ebbing out of him, draining away to be replaced by a leaden weariness. His feet feel like they're encased in stone and cement, and the simple act of moving takes an effort he was never aware of until now. His vessel's body is sending him messages he's never received before: he's actually shivering, and his skin is covered in goose bumps.

He's…he's cold.

Cas looks at Bobby, and he's not sure how to say the words. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his lips feel numb. He feels like he's talking for the first time. In a way, he is.

"Bobby," he says, stricken. "It's happening."

"So that's it? Sam's…gone?"

Bobby's face is ashen, grey with sorrow in the dimming light. Ever since Cas came to him in the common hall he's looked that way. The hours spent drinking whiskeys through the night have done little to ease his grief. Some things just can't be numbed.

As for Castiel…

The angel swallows, shaky. Then he looks down at his trembling hands.

Angel, he muses, shaking his head. He knows by this point that the term no longer applies to him. He clenches his fingers into fists and observes the whiteness of his knuckles, the blue of his veins that stand out along the backs of his hands. He feels his lungs expand and contract with each breath, can almost hear his heart beating in his ears if he sits still enough and listens. Before now, he always felt encased in this vessel, a separate entity. Now, there is no separation between him and the flesh he wears. He is this flesh.

He feels utterly weak, ready to collapse as the realization slowly sinks in.

He doesn't understand what this new and sudden sensation is, but he gets it when he lifts a hand to his face. His cheek is wet. He's crying. He doesn't understand how he's doing it, so he wipes his face dry and blinks until he makes the tears stop.

Bobby takes another long pull from his whiskey, wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "I don't know what to say, Cas," he says, voice hushed and heavy. "About you, about – Sam," his voice breaks and he pauses to recover himself before continuing. "About…any of it. It's just…it's over."

Cas looks out at the breaking day. Dawn is approaching, the sky turning faintly pink. The camp is still quiet for the time being, blissfully unaware.

He looks back at Bobby, smiles sadly. Isn't sure why he's smiling at all.

"There's nothing to say," he tells the aging hunter. "Sam said yes to Lucifer. It's done. We've failed."

Bobby has no reply to that. "Are you sure the angels have left? Is that why you're…whatever is going on with you?"

Cas takes a deep breath, experimenting. He feels like he's made of spun glass, he's so fragile, as though if he's not careful he'll break this delicate body. "I'm sure," he tells Bobby. "And yes, I think that's why I'm…human now."

"So they just pulled out and left you behind?"

"It appears that way."

Bobby looks back out to the camp before answering. He's thoughtful, faraway.

"Well, that frigging sucks for you, don't it?"

It's the dryness in Bobby's voice that has Cas turning his head, the humorless mirth. He looks at the hunter, searching for more. Some assurance, some comfort that this won't be unbearable. He could do this; he could live as a human. He's faked it this long, after all. It's when he meets eyes with the old man that he understands. There is no assurance, and it is unbearable. And now that Sam has said yes…it's intolerable. He doesn't know what he's going to say to Dean when he returns. If.

"Yes, it does suck." He agrees with Bobby because it's all he can say.

And then Cas does something else for the first time.

He laughs.

Now.

The next time Dean wakes, his fever is all but gone. The minute Luke pronounces him better the hunter is already throwing back the blankets and trying to rise, to get back to running things. Cas has to push him back onto the cot.

"Or you'll relapse," he tells Dean, and he gets an eye roll for his trouble. "The camp is fine, Dean. I'm not doing such a bad job winging it, you know. You should have a little more faith."

"That's funny, coming from a fallen angel," Dean mutters. Cas lets it slide, he's just happy that the hunter is coherent.

The news spreads quickly: Dean is recovering. The camp reacts with immediate cheer. The hunter is getting more knocks on the door than he cares for, and Cas finds himself feeling like a private bodyguard more than anything. The concern and care are appreciated, Cas relays to each visitor, but Dean isn't up for company; he's still resting. But the truth is that Dean doesn't want the attention, the recognition.

"They'll have to do without me eventually, anyway," is all he says on the subject.

There are two visitors that the hunter doesn't turn away, however. The day after Dean wakes there is a knock on the door. The hunter is half awake, sipping at broth with a look of profound distaste, and he's sitting up enough to see that it's Alex and Marissa when Cas opens the door. The little girl is sitting in a wheelchair, her brother standing behind her, beaming.

"We heard that Dean's better," Alex begins, a little timid. "And we…we just wanted- that is, if he's up for it…" He stammers and blushes furiously. Behind Cas, the hunter clears his throat.

"Don't hurt yourself," Dean says, a little embarrassed. "Come in, then." He puts his broth down and sits up higher on his cot.

Cas opens the door wider and steps aside. Sunlight spills over across the cabin floor. Alex pushes Marissa inside, and the siblings come over to Dean's bedside shyly. Dean watches their progress, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are cloudy with emotion, and Alex and his sister stare back in meek silence. It's when Marissa puts her right hand on his forearm, the scars from the dog attack still livid where they peek through the edges of bandages, that something changes within the hunter.

Dean doesn't say anything, just gazes at her through somber eyes. As predicted, the left side of her face is a mess. It's a wonder she didn't lose her eye. But she's alive and breathing and seeing her, seeing her brother with her, is so wonderful it damn near takes Dean's breath away. He lets out a choked sound, and it's been so long since Cas has heard it he almost doesn't recognize it for what it is.

Dean is crying.

Dean recovers rapidly. The next day he's up and about as though he was never ill in the first place, albeit he's not yet quite at full steam. Cas is more than happy to relinquish the reins, and the rhythms of the camp resume their normal paces. Dean resumes control, Chuck goes back to squawking in his ear about supplies for the upcoming winter, and Cas can return to his clinics and recreational substances, among other things. He is, after all, human.

The first thing he does is look up Cindy.

She's happy to see him, as always. She answers the door wearing his t-shirt, the one she wore home the last time they saw each other.

He looks down at it, smiling, as he walks through. Cindy closes the door behind him. "You missing this?" She gestures at the shirt, but the double entendre is obvious.

He's already aroused, but seeing Cindy standing there, looking at him, makes something else stir within him. Something deeper.

Now Cas is grinning outright.

"I didn't realize how much until now," he answers.

Then.

Cas has yet to learn the fine art of sleeping. Before, he'd gotten by on pretending. Now it's another story, altogether.

It's been three nights and two days since Dean, Marcus, and the hunting party left. The two hunters left nearly two hours before the party, and they had packed relatively lightly. Cas tries to be optimistic about their chances of finding Joshua before the Croats did, but it's difficult. He doesn't have much of anything to feel particularly good about.

"Maybe tonight you should try taking something," Bobby suggests. "You know, to take the edge off. Might put you to sleep."

Cas drops his head and laughs to himself. Since he's learned how to do it, that's all he's done is laugh. He can tell that Bobby finds it unsettling, but Cas can't bring himself to care.

"Maybe I will," is all he says to the hunter as he moves behind the wheelchair. "Let's hurry up, already." He handles the chair a little rougher than necessary to negotiate the path, but Bobby doesn't protest.

The minutes pass in silence, and then they are approaching a familiar, broken shape, its black paint dulled and deadened.

The Impala sits in silent accusation, shards of glass still littered on the ground around it, glinting and winking. Bobby looks over at the remains of the car in silence. He's holding his arm as though it aches; his face is still ragged from weeping over Sam. Over Dean, or rather, what the news would make of Dean when he returns.

Cas has only begun to understand grief, and he has no idea what he could possibly say. He has no words for Bobby; he's glad the hunter isn't looking for any.

"Cas," Singer quietly says, after a time. The Impala is behind them and they are nearing the main entrance to the camp. A jeep and four figures are seen standing there, watching their approach. Cas recognizes Germaine by the silhouette of his broken arm, strapped to his side.

Cas realizes that Bobby is waiting for him to acknowledge him before he continues. He clears his throat. "Yes?"

Bobby's voice is little more than a sigh. "Forget it," he mumbles, waves his hand. "Watch out for that rock."

Cas clenches his jaw and steers the wheelchair toward the group. Colin, Smith, and Gerald are standing with Germaine, looking worn and tired. Since signing up to be runners and watch guards, they have proven to be worth their weight in gold.

Colin steps forward and grips Cas's hand, then Bobby's. His face is grim.

"Dean's coming back, with Joshua. They're with the hunting party."

Cas doesn't fail to notice how one name is not mentioned. He can tell by the way Bobby's stiffened in the chair that the detail hasn't escaped his attention, either.

"Marcus?" Bobby asks.

Colin drops his eyes, struggling with himself. When he looks up again, he's regained his composure. "They've got it under control," he continues. "Just rounding up the last few Croats and taking care of them before coming back. Should be here by late tonight."

Bobby exhales a long breath. "Okay, then," he says. "Let's go tell Joshua's mother, and tell Luke to get his apron on. He might have some bandages to tie."

Cas observes that everyone is careful not to point out the elephant. No one is talking about Marcus. He nods along with everyone, unsure of how he's supposed to be feeling. Grief for Marcus, obviously. Uncertainty for the camp, what his death implies for everyone. But underneath it is an overwhelming sense of relief that Dean was not the one who has fallen, and he feels inexplicably guilty for the fact that he would rather hear it be Marcus's death than the other way around. Even though Marcus was an extraordinary man, he would prefer it a thousand times over.

He feels utterly confused and overwhelmed. All he can do is grip the handlebars to Bobby's wheelchair and prepare to push off to return to camp with the happy, heavy news.

"Wait," Germaine's voice calls out, stopping them. Cas pauses and he looks over his shoulder. He's holding up a camera in his good hand. There's a weary, hesitant smile on his face.

"For posterity?" he says. "You guys are bringing back the news. The camp's been saved. This is a…big day."

Colin snorts and Smith shakes his head in wry amusement. Gerald looks over at Cas and Bobby, and they all exchange a moment of understanding.

Who knows who will be around to see tomorrow, anyway?

"Sure," Bobby says, motions for everyone to gather around his chair. "May as well mark the occasion." They settle together, weapons casually resting in hand. Cas finds himself chuckling along with everyone, even though he's not sure if he finds the punch line all that funny.

"Any last words?" Germaine jokes dryly as he lifts the camera, squinting.

"Just take the damn picture," Cas growls, and he gets a snicker in response from everyone.

Later on, Cas will remember how Bobby looked while he sat in his wheelchair for the picture. Like he knew something that he wasn't telling.

Now.

Cas has got to hand it to Alex: the kid's persistent in the face of adversity. And when Dean Winchester has his mind made up about something that is a whole lot of adversity, indeed. It's been two weeks since Dean's been back in the full swing of things, and Alex hasn't let up once during that time.

So far, the teenager has done everything but get down on his hands and knees and beg to be brought on a hunt.

So far, Dean has steadfastly refused. Today, Alex has resorted to bribing.

"I could do all of your inventory shifts for the next six months," he offers. "Just give me a chance to show you I'm ready."

Dean keeps walking straight ahead, stride unwavering until he reaches the pickup. He starts throwing his duffels in the bed of the truck, pats down the pockets of his hunting vest to check for his compass. One hand darts to his belt and checks for the knife that never fails to be there. "Sorry, kid," he says simply. "But maybe I like standing around in the smelly Quonset for hours on end."

Alex almost trips over his own feet in an effort to keep up with Dean's rapid strides as the hunter turns and goes back for the second duffel. Cas can relate to the feeling, and he almost feels a pang of sympathy for the teen, trailing after the hunter like a lost puppy. Cas wisely keeps his mouth shut, though, and keeps a pace or two away.

"Alex, I don't doubt that you can do this. Not for a second, but that doesn't change anything. I'm sorry, dude. The answer is still no." Alex shoots a hand out, grabs Dean by the shoulder, imploring.

"I can do this, Dean. I can. Let me prove it to you."

For some reason that Cas can't fathom, Dean actually pauses in his preparations and turns to Alex, considering. He can see it written on the hunter's face; he's going to renege.

Later, Dean will tell Castiel that it was the way Alex said it. The kid reminded him of his brother in that moment, during their last conversation, the conversation that haunts his dreams relentlessly. That was why he relented, because of Sam, Sam's fate. And for the rest of his life, Castiel will always remember the outcome of this moment as the final break within Dean.

Then.

It turns out that Marcus isn't dead. Not exactly, anyway.

"He still had his gun when they grabbed him," Dean says as he drops heavily onto a bench in the common hall. Everyone has just returned, trudging in from the wet and the cold, disheartened. It's been pouring outside and the hunter is soaked through with the rest of the hunting party. There's a fire going in the chimney to cut the chill, having anticipated the need for it upon the party's return. Cas bends forward to inspect a nasty gash on Dean's forehead as he continues.

"There were gunshots, and I could hear some Croats screaming before they took him away." He sounds tired, mechanical. "I don't know if he saved a bullet for himself or not. I hope to God he did." He moves as though he wants to drop his head in his hands, but he flinches back under Cas's fingers.

"Christ, Cas! Stop jamming your fingers in my head. It hurts enough already." Then something shifts on Dean's expression, and he looks at Cas warily. Suspicion creeps into his voice. "Cas, why are your hands cold?"

Cas slides a look to Bobby, unsure of what to do. Bobby can only shrug, dark circles under his eyes. He looks ancient.

Dean doesn't miss the silent exchange between them. "What the hell is this? What's going on?"

Cas sighs slowly, bows his head. "Dean," he says, and then chokes on the sudden emotion that floods him. Dean's eyes widen, amazed, at seeing Cas cry. Then he pales, understanding slowly dawning. Cas wipes his eyes, tries again, but the tears just keep coming. His legs slowly crumble beneath him, and he sits beside Dean. Bobby's quiet, but his head is bent and he's wearing his hat low over his face. His shoulders are shaking.

Dean looks back and forth between the two men, nodding slightly to himself in affirmation. He takes a deep breath, exhales. Tries to breathe again but can't. Cas can see him struggling to keep himself under control. They aren't alone, after all. The hall is filled with others, and everyone in here is grieving. The whole camp is mourning. They've just lost their leader, possibly to a fate worse than death. Dean knows he has to keep it together for now. All the same, Cas can see his heartbreak written all over his face, in the sag of his shoulders. Tears fill the hunter's eyes and silently fall as he leans forward and buries his face in his hands without a single word.

Cas, in all of his mortal ineptness, finds himself clumsy in his grief. He opens and closes his mouth, like a fish. Finally he settles for reaching out, puts a tentative hand on the hunter's shoulder.

It's like the touch electrifies Dean. The hunter springs to his feet and charges out the door. Bobby can only shake his head and sigh. He looks pale, more than pale, but Cas doesn't have time to think about it. Singer jerks a thumb at the door.

"You'd better get going, if you expect to keep up."

By the time Cas runs out into the night Dean is already pulling away, the truck's taillights glowing in the gloom of the storm. Cas has no option but to hastily snatch some random jeep that's idly parked nearby, keys in the ignition. He's only driven a couple of times before, and he breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees that it's an automatic.

Even without the help of the storm, Dean would have easily out driven Cas. The hunter quickly leaves him behind, but Cas doesn't need to see Dean to know where he's going.

The Impala is at the gate entrance on the other side of camp. It looks exactly the same is it has from the moment of its arrival. Cas doesn't know why he expects it to look any different. But he's disappointed to find it sitting there, still busted up, all the same. Sure enough, the truck is there. The driver's side is flung open and Dean is pacing around like a mad person. He's looking up at the sky and gesturing wildly.

"YES!" He's screaming at the tops of his lungs, over the pounding of the rain and peals of thunder. "Yes, Goddamn you! I'm right here! Take me! Do you hear me, you son of a bitch? I'm saying yes! YES!"

Dean keeps hollering, spinning around as though he expects Michael to be standing behind him. When he pivots around and sees Cas the hunter raises his fist. Cas is taken back by surprise at the hostility in Dean's face.

"Just leave me alone, Cas," he warns.

"Dean, the angels are gone. They're gone! And they're not coming back." He speaks with heavy emphasis, and it comes out sharper than he'd intended.

Not now. Don't lose it now. Cas isn't sure if he means himself or Dean, but all he knows is that if the hunter can't be strong there's no way that he can. Cas can feel himself bordering on hysteria and he forces his voice to level out as he speaks again. "Michael won't answer you, Dean." He feels absolutely hollow as he says the words. "It's too late." He takes a step closer to the hunter. "Come with me."

Dean reacts without warning, lunging. He punches Cas viciously across the face with a growl. Cas is sent sprawling to the ground, one hand on his jaw, shocked.

"Not like this," Dean says as he stands over Cas. "It doesn't end like this!"

"I'm sorry, Dean."

The hunter continues to stare down at Cas, neither man moving.

Cas isn't sure how much time passes, but after awhile Dean slowly sinks down onto his knees, slumping in defeat as the fight drains out of him.

"Cas, Marcus is either dead, or…or, he's one of those things by now," the hunter's voice is a whisper. "A Croat. They came up and flanked us by surprise, I couldn't get to him in time." He looks at Cas with a haunted expression. "What's going to happen to these people? Who will look after them?"

"I think you know the answer," Cas tells him gently. He knows how much Dean has come to care for the camp and its inhabitants, and he knows that duty and responsibility are part and parcel of the hunter's affections. Dean won't turn his back now. He will shoulder them.

Dean laughs, a bitter and broken sound. "How can I do that, Cas?" he sounds distinctly like he's begging. "If it's too late to say yes to Michael, then we're all screwed. I couldn't even look after my…my br-" his voice breaks, and he drops his head. He sobs raggedly.

"Sam…"

When Dean falls completely apart, Castiel is the only human to see him do it.

Now.

"When we get there, I want you to stay behind me at all times," Dean tells Alex seriously, a warning look flashing in his eyes. "I mean it, Alex. This isn't like that panty raid of a mission to the hospital you came along on. There's no screwing around, here. Okay?"

Alex nods, expression sober, posture straight and stiff. The teen looks like he wants to say something, but can't decide if he should speak up or not. Finally, he opens his mouth, leaning forward in the backseat.

"Is it him? Is that who we're going after?" he asks.

Dean doesn't react to the question. He keeps staring out the windshield as he drives along the rocky mountain path. But from his vantage point in the passenger seat, Cas can see his knuckles whitening as the hunter grips the steering wheel a little harder.

"No," Dean responds, voice icy. "Not anymore. Now it's just another monster."

Then.

When Cas finally brings Dean back to his cabin, Bobby is already there, waiting for them. He's got a glass of whiskey at the ready, which he pushes into Dean's shaking hands as they throw a blanket over his shoulders. Dean quietly allows himself to be steered to a chair and he sits without protest. When the glass is empty and the hunter isn't shaking as bad Cas and Bobby silently help Dean change into a dry set of clothes. Dean is numb and insensible, moving automatically and without thought. He's led to his cot and he sits back down on it, staring at nothing.

Bobby grips Dean's clasped hands in his, looks at him intently. He pushes the last living Winchester's hair back with a calloused palm as he talks quietly, words that Cas can't hear. He doesn't try to listen, anyway. The words aren't meant for him. After a time, Bobby's voice pitches louder, the moment passed.

"You're daddy would be proud of you, boy," he's telling Dean, voice husky and tight. "I'm proud of you." The grizzled hunter's eyes brim with unshed tears, and the hand on Dean's head slides down to the back of his neck. Bobby bends Dean's head down briefly and he presses his lips to the hunter's scalp in a fatherly gesture. Then Singer turns his chair around and slowly lets himself out of the cabin.

Dean hangs his head. Cas stands there, clenching and unclenching useless hands. The sound of rain and wind hitting the windowpane fills the room.

Cas is the one to find Bobby in the morning, and it's almost like it was the hunter's final gift to him.

Even as Cas walks up the wheelchair ramp to the hunter's cabin, the silence that leaks through the walls is disturbing. There is no rustle, not a single sign of life through the small gap between the window curtains. Cas starts to knock, but the door swings open easily at the first touch.

Cas steps inside swiftly. "Bobby?"

Bobby Singer is there, on the bed. If he were breathing, he'd look like he was having the most restful sleep of his life. The chair is parked beside the cot, the brake on. His slippers are neatly arranged beside the chair, toes pointed outward. His hat is on the bed stand, his hair neatly combed, and he must have changed into a clean shirt and pants before lying carefully down.

When Luke comes and sees, he shakes his head, sorrowfully. "I'll be damned," is all he can say. "I'd guess heart attack. He must have known somehow, maybe felt it coming on for awhile." It's then it all comes to Cas in small bursts of memory: Bobby rubbing his chest or holding his arm as though it pained him. Bobby looking pale and worn. Bobby and the photograph. Bobby.

Cas can almost hear the hunter now: Hindsight is a real pain in the ass.

It couldn't be more true, even if Bobby had said it.

The rest of the day is a blur for Cas. He remembers walking blindly to Dean's cabin, falling on his face when he trips on the step to his door. He doesn't remember what Dean said when he told the hunter that Bobby was dead. Maybe he didn't say anything. Cas remembers how Dean looked down at Bobby's body like he'd seen one too many tragedies in the world. He remembers how Dean carefully wrapped the man he loved like a father up in linen before he carried the bundle out the door and laid him across the bench seat of the truck. Dean gently lifted Bobby's head and slid in behind the wheel before resting it carefully on his lap, closing the driver's side door and rolling the window down.

Dean starts the truck up, but doesn't take it out of park. Instead, he squints up at the sun briefly. It's early morning, but already it's a beautiful day. There is minor activity in the camp, but for the most part the most noise is coming from the singing of the birds in the trees around them. Finally, Dean turns his head and looks at Cas, eyes dull.

"You good to follow?"

Cas doesn't hesitate. He smiles softly.

"Of course I am, Dean."

They drive to an open field and burn Bobby's body in silence. From time to time someone from camp stops by and stands with them before moving on. Cas remembers Deans standing immobile, watching the flames as the pyre burns down. He's still standing there late that evening, with the glowing coals.

Above all, what Cas remembers most is standing there over Bobby's body earlier that morning. He remembers looking at Bobby's face and thinking how that was the most at peace he's ever seen the hunter look. There was an absence of care, of suffering, or any other burden. Death made Bobby look younger somehow. He also looked…gone. Like he wasn't in his body anymore, like he's been freed from the mortal coil. Cas remembers how relieved that made him feel.

Now.

By the time they pull up to the meeting spot, Gerald is already there with two passengers. Dean climbs out of the truck and the other group does the same. Cas recognizes Aaron and Dave, the two men with Gerald, and everyone exchanges a quick handshake and nod. There is a curious glance or two directed at Alex, but no one says anything about the teen's presence, and Dean doesn't volunteer any explanation.

The hunter gives everyone a cursory sweep with his eyes. "Everyone good?" he asks sharply, waits a couple seconds before turning and heading out. Everyone falls in line behind him, and Dean only has a few simple instructions before the patrol continues on in silence.

"Eyes peeled, everyone. No talking. Don't forget to not be stupid, Alex."

Cas shakes his head in bemusement at the back of Dean's head. Backwards advice, coming from the most reckless person he's ever known.

As the hours press on, Cas finds himself remembering the good old days of zapping himself around. No tiring marches, no rain, no blisters. Just thinking about the place, and then being there the very next moment. If he were still an angel, he'd have found who they were looking for already. He sighs and reminds himself that patience is a virtue, right before he tells himself that virtue doesn't keep anyone alive.

The day has dwindled into late afternoon by the time Dean finally calls a halt. The company settles into an amicable dinner, eating rations and sharing a canteen until Dean reaches into the rations bag and pulls out a six pack, yanking each beer out of its ring and tossing one to a waiting pair of hands. After that, everyone kind of settles back and does his own thing. Gerald has his cigarettes with him, and Cas bums one after he smokes the joint he brought along. Dean wrinkles his nose in distaste and moves over to sit by Alex, who suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights. Cas almost feels embarrassed for the kid, the teen's hero worship is so bad. He turns away from the uncomfortable sight of Alex's nervousness and puffs on his Players Filter, wondering idly why Gerald has Canadian smokes. Things taste like shit.

"How you doing?" Dean asks Alex, knocking his beer lightly against the teen's in greeting. "Don't feel nervous, like you're gonna puke?" Dean grins. "Cos if you do, I'd like to see that."

Alex smiles and shakes his head, slowly getting over his shyness. He only blushes half as crimson as he normally does whenever Dean talks to him. The hunter jostles the teen in good humor, and Alex pushes back lightly. "No," he tells Dean. "I'm excited, not nervous." Alex licks his lips and leans forward. "I'm ready," he tells the hunter earnestly, eagerly.

Dean rocks back on his heels a little, takes a swig of his beer before he answers.

"And just what makes you so ready?" Dean asks, fingering the tab on his beer can idly. It pops off and he flicks it away into the tall grass a few feet away.

Alex looks like he's steeling himself. When he speaks, he has brooding conviction hanging heavily in his voice. Cas can hear it plain as day, and it's incredibly naïve and ridiculous.

"Because," the teen says fervently, "I want to do what you do. I want to learn how to hunt. I know what 'hunt' means; it's not just deer or Croats." Alex swallows. "I want you to show me how to hunt monsters."

Dean's face goes shuttered and distant. "You don't want me to do that," he tells the teen in a quiet voice. Cas holds his breath and glances away.

"Yeah, I do," Alex insists. "I know what I'm asking."

"Do you?" Dean's voice is sharp and he raises an eyebrow.

If Alex has anything to say in response he doesn't get the chance. Aaron is suddenly jumping to his feet, listening tensely. Whatever it is, Dean hears it too, and the hunter likewise stands and cocks an ear into the wind. Cas's hand is sliding towards his gun when he hears it, too.

Laughter.

"So he's here, after all," Dean says under his breath.

The group sits stock-still and listens as the laughter comes trickling through the trees surrounding them, coming closer and then dancing away.

Dave makes a move as though to head off into the tree cover in the direction of the deranged sound, but Dean thrusts a hand out. "No," the hunter hisses. "That's what it wants, for you to go out there. The sun will be setting in a few minutes; it'll be dark soon, and they see a hell of a lot better in the dark than we do. We stick together."

So the group hunkers down and waits for the next move. Cas throws occasional looks Alex's way. The teen licks his lips and peers out into the shadows of the forest, sweat trickling down the bridge of his nose.

It's when it gets close that Alex loses his nerve. A cackle sounds, coming from close by, and everyone's heads whip in the direction of the noise. A shadow breaks away from a tree and flits away, leaving the sound of demented giggling behind. The teen jumps to his feet, takes aim and fires blindly in the direction of the movement. There is a sharp cry, followed by the sound of a body thudding to the ground. Alex lets out a whoop of victory and rushes forward.

Dean is on his feet and chasing after the teen a moment after. "No! Alex!" he yells frantically, but it's too little too late. The kid falls for the trap, and once he's within striking distance the second Croat makes it move, detaching itself from the gathering cover of darkness and moving to intercept Alex. Dean throws his rifle aside as he runs, reaches for his pistol and takes swift aim and fires at the second Croat. At the last second the thing ducks and whirls around, snarling, to face Dean like a cornered, feral animal. It's when he hears Alex's cry of shock that the hunter turns his attention away from the Croat for the briefest of moments.

There is a Croat approaching Alex, grinning hideously. Alex has his gun raised but it's like he's not registering that he's holding it. He gawks at the creature with undisguised horror, mouth slack.

A shape rushes Dean even as the hunter swings his gun towards the Croat stalking Alex and shoots it directly in the head. The creature slams into him with bone-jarring impact in a flurry of dirty rags and grinding teeth. Filthy hands are scrabbling at him, tearing at his clothes in a desperate attempt to find purchase.

Cas is already moving forward, shouting, but suddenly more Croats rush in out of nowhere, melting out of the trees. The air is filled with their screeching and growling, and he starts shooting at the ones that come closest, trying to clear a path to get to Dean and Alex. He can hear more gunshots behind him, grunts and the sounds of flesh striking flesh. Cas can't get to Dean, but he can see over the Croat's shoulder while the hunter twists his head and sees the his gun he'd dropped, lying several feet away from his reach, and his hand flies out and his fingers curl around a broken off tree branch. He has just enough time to lash out with the branch and hold the Croat off with it before the thing rips his ear off with its teeth. Even so, it's close, and the creature's snapping teeth are inches away from Dean's face as the hunter struggles to throw the thing off him.

Cas's attention is pulled away by a Croat that comes at him from behind, the sound of its hissing breaths making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He whirls around, away from Dean and his struggles, away from the dumbfounded teen still mired in horror, to face his new aggressor. Just before he shoots the thing, Cas can hear Dean's shouts.

"Alex! Take the shot! Take it!"

Cas curls his finger around his trigger and squeezes. The sound of a Alex's gun echoes his. As Cas whips around and starts picking off the last of the Croats with the others he can sees Dean rolling in the direction of his gun. It's when the last Croat drops to the ground, the god-awful shrieking finally ceasing, that Cas is able to turn back around to Dean.

The hunter is pointing his pistol at the twitching Croat on the forest floor directly behind Alex. The creature had been approaching the teen slowly, stalking him, and the kid had never thought to check his blind spots. Alex stares, slack jawed, as Dean shoots the Croat one last time and it goes still with one final, bubbling breath. When Dean lowers his gun, he stares at the teen as though he could bore holes through him. Alex quavers, pale and shell shocked, as he waits for Dean to break the silence. When the hunter doesn't open his mouth the kid swallows forcibly, his throat working. His wide eyes move to Dean's arm, where blood is soaking through the fabric of his jacket. "D-did I…?"

"Shoot me?" Dean cuts in, voice and face both unreadable. "Yeah, you did."

Alex's fingers twitch convulsively, and he drops his rifle. He looks as though he could faint. "Oh, God," he moans. "I'm sorry, Dean."

The hunter looks down at his arm, tries to move it, testing his range of motion, and he hisses at the pain the movement causes. If he's about to say anything, he doesn't get the chance. Dean's head whips up, and he's staring over Gerald's shoulder for the briefest of moments before he's got his gun raised and aimed.

Cas whirls to see what Dean's looking at, his gun also at the ready, but he can already see it's too late. All eyes had been on Alex and the hunter, and no one had noticed the Croat sneaking up on Gerald. It's already lunging at him, and Dean's shot barely misses it. Cas can't get off a clear shot, and neither can Aaron or Dave. It proves to be too late, anyway. Gerald screams as the Croat knocks him down, sinks its teeth into the soft tissue of his neck and tears away a large hunk of meat. A knife flashes in Gerald's hand as he starts slashing at the creature frantically. The Croat fights back with desperate intensity, fingers and teeth ripping. Cas sees the blood, and in that horror-filled moment he realizes that the Croat is bleeding all over the place, all over Gerald. Gerald finally manages to coil his legs beneath the creature and kick it off. He pushes away, blood already trickling down his shirtfront, and the creature lets him retreat, a chunk of Gerald's flesh dangling from its lips. It lifts its head and smiles as it chews, undead eyes flashing. Cas feels dread ice his veins, and behind him he hears Alex retching.

It's Marcus.

"Oh, my God," Aaron breathes, and the Croat's lips split into a wide grin. It throws his head back and laughs, the same laugh that's been taunting the camp for weeks, now. It's the same laugh Marcus had when he was alive, but now it's twisted and gnarled, like his body has become. His movements are jerky and uncoordinated, limbs moving at awkward angles, as though his joints no longer worked the same as they had when he was alive. This Croatoan Marcus is only a woozy memory of the real man, a mockery. It hurts to see him this way, more than Cas had expected it to.

Cas can sense movement, and he barely has to turn his head before he sees Dean, walking up towards the Croat purposefully, gun still drawn. The Croat's eyes narrow and it reaches out, lightning fast, and grabs Gerald, holding the man against it like a shield as it regains its feet. Gerald lets out a sound like a frightened animal, eyes huge. Dean doesn't stop coming, just quickens his pace. And suddenly he shoots, and Gerald cries out in fear, clenching his eyes shut. The bullet strikes the Croat right between the eyes, only an inch or two from Gerald's ear. It falls to the ground and Gerald windmills back, falling against a tree and sliding down to sit heavily, hand clamped over his bleeding neck.

Cas knows he should move, do something, anything, but he can't. It's as though a spell has been cast on him. He's rooted to the spot, still in shock, as Dean walks up and stands over the thing that used to be Marcus. The hunter stares down at the body for a few moments.

"Why'd you come back here?" he asks it angrily. "Why didn't you kill yourself when you had the chance? Before you became this?"

Of course, there is no answer volunteered by the corpse. A fly lands on Marcus's beard and makes its way towards one glazed eye.

Dean turns around slowly and faces Gerald. The man is still sitting down, breathing harshly. The hunter slowly crouches and wraps a gentle hand around Gerald's wrist, carefully pulls his hand away from his neck. The wound is still streaming blood, jagged and deep. Teeth marks can be plainly seen, even from Cas's vantage point.

Cas hangs his head; he senses Dave and Aaron shifting back. They know as well as he does. There's no way Gerald hasn't been infected with Croat blood.

"I'm sorry," Dean says, and the softness of his voice doesn't fit with the hardness to his face. Gerald's pallor whitens further at the implication in Dean's words, and he shrinks back, holding his hands out before him.

"No, Dean. Please," he begs, licking his lips, eyes darting to each man in his company. Everyone is silent.

"Please," Gerald begs again. Then he starts to sob with great, heaving shudders. "My family," he chokes out. "Please, let me see them just one more time. Just once more. There's still time before it happens."

Cas bows his head. He can hear it Gerald's voice. He knows there's not enough time. There's never enough.

Dean looks at Gerald for a moment longer, saddened, before he extends his hand. "Yeah, okay," he tells the man. "We should hurry."

Gerald looks up, smiling weakly through his tears. He runs a hand over his face, shaking. "Thank you," he whispers as he takes the hunter's hand and allows himself to be pulled up. "Thank you, Dean." He starts shuffling past Dean, heading to the jeep.

As soon as Gerald walks within arm's reach away from Dean the hunter raises his gun.

"I'm sorry," he tells the back of Gerald's head the moment before he pulls the trigger.

Gerald falls dead in his tracks, his eyes still fixed on the jeep. The sound of Alex retching redoubles. Cas closes his eyes. This is the first time Dean's ever had to shoot someone after being infected by the Croatoan virus.

The mechanical chirping of crickets closes in during the silence that follows. Finally, Dave starts moving. "We should wrap the body up to bring back," he says quietly, and begins searching in the jeep for a tarp.

Dave's statement seems to break the spell, and time resumes again. Dean raises his head and glares over at Alex, anger lighting a fire in his eyes. There is a dangerous look on his face. He storms over and grabs the kid by the back of his neck, propelling him forward to come and stand over the body of Gerald, the twisted shell of Marcus.

"Are you seeing this?" he asks the teen. Alex nods hastily, sobbing quietly. Snot is running down his face. "Still want to be a hunter?" This time the teen shakes his head.

"Say it! Do you still want to be a hunter?"

"N-no!" Alex stammers, almost falls to the ground when Dean releases him.

The hunter turns and wordlessly helps Dave move Gerald's body onto the tarp, leaving the teen to sniffle himself back under control.

Cas stands over Marcus's body, wonders what he was thinking of in his final moments before he changed into a Croat, if he was thinking about his wife.

Then.

Two days after Bobby's death, Dean shows up on Cas's doorstep. It's not even dawn yet, and Cas opens the door in confusion.

"Feel like going for a drive?" He asks. Cas looks down and sees that Dean's holding the photo Germaine took the other day.

"Sure," Cas answers, swinging the door open. "Just give me a minute."

They drive out of camp just as dawn starts to break, Cas holding the photo. He studies it, and Bobby's face stares back silently, grimly. The Camp Chitaqua sign looms in the background of the image like an omen.

Barely five words had passed between them by the time they finally pull into Bobby's salvage yard. The house is smashed and in complete disarray from the attack, but there are no traces of any Croats having stuck around. They walk over the broken furniture, the pages and pages of books and articles fluttering across the floor. The wheelchair is still there, bloodied and knocked over, abandoned. Seeing it reminds Cas of the desperate flight out of there, the night they were attacked. It seems like a lifetime ago.

Dean's jaw is clenched so tight Cas can practically hear the hunter's teeth creaking as he walks over to the mantle and runs his hands along it, testing. He finds the trick piece and pulls it out, exposing the hiding place. Dean reaches in without a word and pulls out a small book. Bobby's journal.

Dean opens it and stuffs the photograph inside. He puts the journal back and seals the hiding spot up again.

"In case any hunters come along," Dean tells Cas. "They'll find the journal and know where to go next. We could use all the help we can get." The hunter moves to the kitchen, or what remains of it. Somehow he manages to find the only two glasses that aren't broken and a bottle of Beam. He pours two sloshing glasses and holds one out for Cas.

"I'm not a drinker," Cas says.

"You are today."

They move to the porch and sit down, staring out at the salvage yard, unspeaking. The wind has died down, the storm clearing, and it's eerily silent, save for the occasional creaks and moans of assorted junk heaps. After a time, Dean turns his head and looks at Cas.

"Cas, I never want to talk about…what's happened," the hunter tells him. "Not any of it, okay?" His voice wavers slightly, and he takes a long swallow of whiskey to steady himself. He resumes speaking, talking in low, sorrowful tones.

"What happened, it's done. Bobby, Sammy…" he trails off and clears his throat, eyes suddenly bright with tears. "They're gone. The angels are gone. You're…like the rest of us." He chuckles brokenly. "You poor bastard. You're one of us."

"Dean, I don't understand-"

"I don't understand any of it, Cas," Dean tells him. "But I guess it doesn't matter anymore. There's no point talking about it, because it's not changing a bloody thing. All that's left is the camp." He laughs again, a bitter sound. "It's like Bobby knew, that son of a bitch. All we've got is that place. That's all those people have. So that's it. That's all that matters, now." He looks up at Cas, and tears are shining on his cheeks, unnoticed.

Cas is sure this is what a broken heart must feel like. He's only been human for a few scant days, and already he's tired beyond words. Looking at Dean, he knows that he doesn't need to vocalize it. The hunter understands.

Cas swallows, takes a deep breath. Life at Camp Chitaqua has officially begun.

"Okay, Dean."

End.

A/N: Did I enjoy killing Bobby? Definitely not! But I don't think Bobby was meant to survive in that timeline, and I couldn't shake the feeling that the show was also implying that, even though they don't come right out and say it. We know that Bobby made it to the camp because he was in the photograph, but no mention of him after that. I hope I haven't angered anyone by "killing off" one of the best tv characters out there right now. I'll be sure to make Bobby's next appearance in a future fic (whenever that may be) an extra-alive one, to make up for his death in this one ;). Thanks for reading, guys. I'm glad I could share this. Writing it was an awesome experience. I hope I see you again!